Forbidden
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Lust approached him and touched him, whispering the words that would forever change his life and Sam’s. “You really love your brother, don’t you?” Alternate ending/AU for The Magnificent Seven. Not as dirty as it probably sounds.
1. Lust

Title: Forbidden

Summary: She approached him, Lust, and touched him, whispering the words that would forever change his life and Sam's. "You really love your brother, don't you?"

Rating: T for Language and theme

Timeline: Alternate Ending/ AU for "The Magnificent Seven," so guess where it starts?

A/N: Hey, you guys ever have that idea for the story that just won't leave you alone until you write it, no matter how bad you know it is? Yeah, this is it for me. Sorry. The second time I watched TMS it popped into my head, and it wouldn't let go. I finally wrote it as a kind of b-day gift for my friend, who is sick and wrong. That being said…

Warnings: Slight Wincest. Before you judge, remember "The Grapefruit Analogy." Y'all thought that would be wrong, too. And, yeah, I know I said I'd never do it, but my Plot Bunnies threatened to eat me. _It's nothing explicit, not graphic, and not all the way._ Still, I understand if you turn away now.

Disclaimer: The show isn't mine. The characters aren't mine. And I'm starting to think that this idea was planted by my something evil. So, yeah…

* * *

**Forbidden**

_Chapter 1_

_Lust_

She was coming at him, right into his trap, even as her fellow Deadlies screamed and fell and writhed and swirled back to Hell in a cloud of black smoke. She came to him, hand outstretched, a sly smile playing across full lips, the lips of a hooker who had caught more than just an STD with her last outing.

"Let me guess," he said, "Lust?"

"Baby," she cooed at him, "I'm whatever you want me to be."

He tried on a smirk that felt fake, leading her farther into his set trap, ever closer to the tub. She slid fluidly forward, catching him off-guard, catching him before he could react. One long-nailed hand fell on his shoulder, moving up to his face, caressing him, the coldest touch he'd felt since demonic lips had locked with his own and forever sealed his doom.

She smiled at him, the dim light playing in her black eyes, sending his own reflection back at him. He could tell, even when gazing into those pitiless pools of soulless tar that he had lost weight, looked gaunt. Then again, who could blame him?

Her thumb ran over thin stubble and her smile widened. She leaned in close and he braced for the kiss, knowing that it was inevitable.

It never came.

Instead, she stepped closer, raising herself up on her toes until those deadly lips were pressed right against his ear. "You really love your brother, don't you?" she questioned.

Dean pulled back, staring at her with wide, puzzled eyes. She just smiled, her eyes glinting in the light, glinting more maliciously than they had before. There was something to that question, he knew it. Something sinister.

Was it possible that she had found out, that they had all found out? How fast did word spread among demons? How many of them knew that he was now a marked man, that he was not long for this world?

And what did it really matter in the end? Sammy was safe, was _alive_. He was happy and healthy and _breathing_.

Grabbing her roughly by the hair, Dean decided that what she had said was of no consequence Just a demon doing what demons do- reaching inside his troubled head and pulling out whatever would trip him up. And it almost had.

He pulled her into the bathroom, shoving her head roughly into the tub. He yanked her up to breathe, to save the host, but that was all.

No, what she'd said didn't matter. It wasn't important. What _was _important was finishing the demon off, sending her back to Hell, back to where she belonged, back to his future home.

* * *

So, show of hands, who's still here? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Well, if anyone held on, all I've got to say is sorry about the short chapters (there will be six in all), but that's how it worked out. Um... reviews are appreciated, nad I totally understand flames. Thank you and good-night o.0


	2. Realization

Whoot! Three reviews! That's three more than I was expecting!

So, I was gonna hold off until tomorrow for this one, but I'm not a patient person, so here it is. Please enjoy.

* * *

_Chapter 2_

_Realization_

Honestly, Dean hadn't noticed that anything was different until the salt and burn. Apparently, Sam was unable to do anything besides sit in a corner and suck his thumb while some random blonde chick saved his ass, and three of the demons and their hosts had died because of it.

Bobby was the one that had told him. They were digging a shallow grave with Tammi while Sam went inside to fish out the bodies. Dean had laughed, had been forming a response in his head when Sam walked outside, dragging a limp corpse behind him.

The older brother's breath caught in his chest as he laid eyes on the younger man. Something in his mind, in his heart, screamed out to him, telling him that something was wrong, that the wave of emotion that had washed over him wasn't natural. It wasn't right.

It wasn't… he couldn't find the word he wanted as he stood there, watching helplessly as Sam threw the body into the hole and moved back to the house to grab another. It wasn't right, wasn't what he usually felt. Usually, looking at Sam gave him that slight mixture of annoyance and brotherly love, all that mushy stuff that he hated to think about but acknowledged just the same. This, though… this made him think more of one-night stands, of random girls from bars. This wasn't love. This was…

This was lust.

_"You really love your brother, don't you?" _

Sam walked back into the yard, hefting a dead man up over his shoulder. Dean's heart simultaneously sank and fluttered.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"You all right?"

Words so suddenly like music that he nearly stopped the car and yelled at the other man to get out. Wrong. It was _so _wrong. And even though every part of his brain, every part of him that was still sane enough, still _him_ enough, to realize what was happening told him so, it didn't stop him.

He wanted his brother and it made him sick.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, eyes on the road, hands clutching the wheel in a death grip to avoid having them stray toward his brother. He could deal with this. He knew he could. What was one year of resisting temptation, right?

Damn, even thinking about trying to stop himself sounded wrong.

"You sure?" Sam asked, "'cause you've been kinda quiet since we left Bobby and Tammi. This isn't about what we talked about, is it?"

Dean finally forced himself to face his brother and instantly turned away. No one was allowed to look that good in the light of the rising sun. Himself excluded, of course. "No. I'm fine. Getting my release, and all that."

And wasn't that the truth? Release from life, from hunting, from always being second-best, from running. Best of all, he was looking at a release from whatever that black-eyed bitch had done to him.

Sam sighed. "What, then?"

Eyes on the road, never straying. Focus. He needed to focus, or else he would never get through it. "Nothing that concerns you." But that wasn't the truth. That was far from the truth. It had everything to do with Sam, everything and then some.

Sam shrugged and turned to look out the window, to watch the scenery, and Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief. With luck, he could keep up a charade of normalcy- or what passed for it in their lives- until the end of the year. He feared, for some illogical reason, that telling Sam the truth would mean the departure of the younger man, and he just couldn't have that. Even the sane part of his brain agreed.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It only took two hours for Dean to crack. It was eating him up inside, trying to force its way out, that wanting, that longing. He felt like he needed to touch the other man, but his hand recoiled at the thought.

So he sat on his bed and he stared at the television. Clark Kent and Lex Luthor were making goo-goo eyes at each other again, and Dean could relate. He hated it, but he could relate.

He grabbed the remote, turned off the TV, and looked at Sam. "Uh…"

Sam spun around, turning from his laptop to smile at his older brother, all shiny teeth and sparkling eyes. It was disgusting. "Yeah?"

"I, uh…"

The smile faded. Sam's eyes narrowed. The pensive look really worked for him. "What?"

"Today-"

"I knew it," the younger man exclaimed, jumping to his feet, "there's something wrong."

"You don't have to sound so happy about it." Sam's face flushed, and for a moment Dean regretted not being the one to put that color into his cheeks. Then sense took hold again. "We caught Envy first, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Isaac was possessed by Wrath."

"Sure was."

"Bobby said he got Sloth."

"Yep."

"And you…?"

Sam shrugged. "Pride, for sure. No idea about the other two. Why?"

Dean sighed, his body deflating with the exhalation. He fixed his eyes on his feet, careful not to look up, but to summon the courage to say what needed to be said, no matter the outcome. "Lust," he whispered finally, "I got Lust."

"So, Greed and Gluttony for me, then," Sammy deduced, completely missing the point.

"She, uh… _it_ kinda…"

"What?" There was concern in his brother's voice, and Dean was happy to find that that, at least, wasn't a turn-on. Yet.

"You remember what happened to that chick with the shoes? Remember what happened to Isaac?"

Sam nodded, he could hear it, the familiar rustling of hair. He'd been begging Sam to get a haircut for over a year now, and the boy had refused. Now… now it was too tempting, tempting to touch it, to run his fingers though it, to-

"It touched me."

Silence. Then: "What?"

"The demon. Lust. It… it touched me."

"You got violated by one of the Seven Deadly Sins?"

Dean raised his eyes enough to glare at the younger man. "No, dipshit. It _touched_ me."

Sam's eyes went wide, and in that one expression, Dean could see that he had figured it out, had maybe even known at the house, in the car. "What did it… Dean, what did it tell you?"

He sighed, dropping his eyes again. "I can fight it," he muttered, "I've been fighting it ever since the end of the hunt."

"It hung on?"

"We didn't kill it. Maybe… it lingers unless the damn thing's dead. But I can _fight_ it, Sammy."

He heard Sam swallow, heard the audible click in his brother's throat, hated that he'd put it there, knew what was bound to come with confession. "What do you want?" the younger man whispered, and the knowledge in his voice was enough to break his brother.

"You."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"There's always a way to beat these things." Sam was pacing, back and forth, across the motel room, freakishly long legs pumping, muscles working under a too-tight t-shirt that hadn't seemed all that bad to Dean only a couple of days before as he gestured wildly.

"Uh, Sammy?"

He stopped, looked at his brother, eyes wary, as if afraid of what the older man might do, of the laws he might violate. "Yeah?"

"I'm getting dizzy. You can think without walking."

Sam sighed, plopping down onto one of the beds and blowing his bangs out of his eyes. "We're screwed."

"We're not screwed," Dean argued, "we've handled worse."

"Yeah, because there's so much out there worse than gay incest." Dean flinched. "Not that it would ever come to that. Right?"

Dean shook his head. "I dunno, man. It's weird. Like, I know it's wrong, right, but I can't help thinking about it. I can fight it, but I can't stop _wanting_ it." Disgust filled his voice as he shuddered on the last two words, prompting big, sympathetic eyes from Sam. "And, dude, you gotta stop that."

"Stop what?"

"The looks. The freakin' adorable stares. I swear, it's like you want it as much as I do."

Sam grimaced, pulling a face that, thankfully, did nothing at all for his brother. "All right, well, how are we gonna deal with this?"

The older man shrugged. "We sent the bitch back to Hell. I guess we could always call her back here and kill her, but with what? The only other options I can see are killing me or trying to live with it."

"Well, we're not gonna kill you-"

"And it's not like I'm long for this world, anyway. Looks like we lucked out, babe."

Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah, you're gonna have to not call me that."

* * *

Reviews are appreciated, as always. I really want to know what people think of this one, so don't be shy :) 


	3. Temptation

So, I logged onto to check reviews and nearly had a heart attack. From three to fourteen in one night was not what I'd expected. For being so good and reviewing, I'm gonna give y'all an update. But first I've gotta say that I was surprised by the number of people who appreciated the Smallville jab. Kinda surprised no one mentioned Jason's jealousy, though, given the nature of this story :)

* * *

_Chapter 3_

_Temptation_

One week, and they'd gotten by just fine. One week, and Dean was fighting valiantly. There were some slips every now and again, some uncomfortable stares, a pet name or two, but for the most part, it wasn't too bad. Things even seemed normal, which was probably why Sam forgot.

He hadn't been thinking, had fallen back into the old routine. Dean was lying in bed, flipping lazily through the fuzzy channels on the old black and white set, and he had gone to take a shower. A boy needed to get clean, now, didn't he?

Sam had relished being able to get away for even a limited period of time. He was starting to notice, _really notice_, the way that Dean was looking at him, like he was a cut of meat out on display. It was making him uncomfortable.

It was getting worse.

He was sure that Dean had noticed- how could he not?- but was unsure of how to bring it up. How do you tell your brother that he can't love you, that he disgusts you, when it isn't even really his fault?

Sighing, Sam turned off the shower and hung his head, watching as tiny waterfalls spilled from his soaking locks and down the drain. It was getting harder, harder for him, harder for Dean. He wouldn't trade places with his brother at that moment for anything in the world.

He stepped out of the shower and toweled off. It wasn't fair, not for either of them. How come all the crap in the world fell on their shoulders? How com they couldn't just be normal?

He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door, a burst of steam leading his way into the room proper. He had barely taken two steps when he heard the choked gasp.

Dean was sitting up straight in bed, remote held slack in his trembling hand, hungry eyes taking in Sam's every movement, every drop off water sliding down his body to hit the dirty carpet. He was vaguely aware of the haunted look behind the longing- the disgust, the disappointment, the horror.

"Dean," he barely managed, a lump forming in his throat as he took in his brother's condition, "I-I'm sorry. I.. I forgot." He reached for his clothes, sitting innocently atop his duffle bag and grabbed them, rushing back into the bathroom to change.

He slammed the door and locked it, leaning up against the rough wooden surface, letting his head fall back against it with a thump. From the other side of the door, he could make out the sound of his big brother sobbing.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was getting worse. Neither of them could deny it anymore. Dean had started talking about separating, taking some time off, time to clear both their heads. Sam refused to let him. After all, the man had sold his soul to keep the family together; it just seemed wrong to tear it apart again.

But Sam was at wit's end. It had been almost three weeks since they'd left Lincoln. Dean was growing more distant during the day, keeping himself away from the object of his unwanted affection.

The night, however, was a completely different story.

Sam grimaced as his brother moaned again, tossing and turning, tangling the covers of the other bed tighter around his tortured body, his tarnished soul. "Sammy," he called out, his voice low, seductive. Sam shuddered.

Dean had been having the dreams for the past three nights, rolling around, struggling with his subconscious. And he always woke his brother up. He tried to pretend that it wasn't happening, they both did, but no amount of make-believe could cause reality to back off.

Sam had taken to trying to find a way to fix it. He'd even called Bobby, against Dean's wishes. The older hunter was just as shocked and disgusted as they'd been, but he promised to help. Or, at least, _try_ to help.

Dean moaned again, calling out to his brother, physically _reaching_, and Sam started to wonder just how much more he could take.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was a simple hunt, not their first since the Sins in Nebraska. A ghost in the water. A woman who had drowned in the lake and was buried under a near-by tree. They dug her up, both marveling at how normal things still seemed when they were hunting. It was like nothing had changed, nothing had happened to Dean, like there wasn't some dark secret hanging heavy between them.

Dean had struck the match and was just about to toss it into the grave, which they'd just finished filling with salt and gasoline, when the damned thing jumped out of the water and grabbed him. The match fell from his grasp, extinguishing as it hit the dirt. By the time Sam had realized what had happened, Dean was already in the water.

Sam grabbed his the match book from its place on top of the duffle bag, pulled out a match, struck it, and sent it hurtling into the salty pit. He didn't even wait to see if it caught, just dropped the match and ran for the lake, jumping in without thinking as the flames and smoke swirled high into the sky.

The burning form of the ghost caught his eyes and he was able to pull Dean from her weakening grasp without incidence. He looped one arm around his brother and swam to the surface, struggling against the added weight, dead weight, weight that should have been squirming from the proximity, the contact. He should have been excited and disgusted, but he wasn't. He was only still.

Sam dragged him from the water and up onto the beach, laying the older man out on the dirt. "Dean?" he asked, patting his brother's face, trying to elicit a response. Nothing. "Dean!" He shook him. Still, no reply, no breath, no life.

Sammy rocked back on his knees. His brother wasn't breathing, wasn't responding, was cold and pale. He was supposed to be alive, be vibrant, be healthy. He wasn't supposed to leave, not for another year.

Determination flashing across his face, Sam fisted his hands over the lower part of his brother's chest and began pushing, counting in his head, the actions coming like second nature to him.

He pinched Dean's nose shut and leaned the older man's head back, opening up the airway. He didn't even think, just lowered his mouth to his brother's and breathed.

He pulled back, watching, waiting. Nothing.

He started compressions again. Leaned down to breathe, to save his brother, to bring his hero, his _savior_ back to him.

That happened at about the same time Dean woke up.

Sam wasn't sure how it happened, exactly, just knew that Dan refused to look at him after. He bent down, eyes closed, willing his brother to live as a hand came up and fisted in his hair, pulling him down until their lips connected in something that was _definitely_ not CPR.

Shocked, Sam struggled against his brother's hold, reeling back, unable to escape the death-grip that Dean had him in. He fought until Dean was done, and then turned away, letting the older man have his shame.

It was getting worse.


	4. Revoked

Uh... seriously? This is more popular than I ever imgined it would be. I'm kinda creeped out by that. Don't get me wrong, I love reading all the reviews, but... _seriously_?

Well, for all you (weird) fans, here's chapter 4!

* * *

_Chapter 4_

_Revoked_

"You should leave," Dean said, still unable to look his brother in the eyes. He hated himself, hated what he'd done, hated the way he'd felt while he was doing it. Most of all, though, he hated the bitch that had done this to him, because it was getting harder to separate his own feelings from the ones she'd planted.

"I'm not leaving you alone," Sam argued, stubborn till the end, "not like this."

"Not even after-"

"It wasn't even your fault."

"But it's not the first time."

Sam looked at him. "What?"

"I've thought about it before. You should leave. Go back to school. Just get out while you can. While I can still fight it."

"Dean."

Why couldn't he just understand, understand that it would be better if they were apart, if the temptation was taken away? Why couldn't he see that it was very possible that Dean would fall one day and not be able to get back up, would have a lapse in judgment, a loss of control, and not be able to come back? Why couldn't Sam see that this was worse than any Hell that was waiting to swallow him whole?

Why didn't he realize that that pleading tone of voice was just too much to resist?

"Please, just go."

Sam shook his head. Dean could tell now by the flash of movement seen from his peripheral, not from the soft rustle of hair. He'd made Sam get it cut, made him eliminate the problem after his first lapse, his first show of weakness. Damn, that had been an awkward car ride. "Not leaving. I told you."

Dean moaned, hanging his head. "It's for the best. I don't want to do this to you."

"And you've been doing great so far." They both knew it was a lie. "Besides, I'm getting close. Bobby's getting close. Ellen, and Jo, and everyone else we've got working on it. We're almost there, Dean."

The older man just shook his head. He was still having trouble believing that they'd let so many people in on his secret, his curse. It would have been embarrassing, if fighting what he now thought of as his baser instincts gave him time for embarrassment.

"Just give up," he muttered. And that was that.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

He left a note. He figured that it was a kind of suicide note. He was, after all, going to his death. He turned back at the door, shoving a gun into the waistband of his jeans out of habit, and looked at the one person he'd hurt the most in his life, the one person that deserved better. He spoke the words that had burned his lips for the past three months. "I love you."

Dean left the room.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was cold, but he didn't care. Just as long as she showed. He turned in circles, getting dizzy, waiting for her to apear, to take him, to save him from the prison of lust that his life had become.

"Dean." He spun to see her standing there, a pretty brunette with sinister red eyes. "You're early."

Dean shrugged. "That a problem?"

She stepped forward, into the intersection of the two dirt roads, and smiled. "Depends. Any reason?"

"You know."

The smile widened, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth, teeth that reminded him of Sam's. "Of course," she cooed, "Lust told us what she'd done. I'm surprised her hold is still so strong."

"Well, it is. So, you want me?"

"Dean, you've still got nine months left."

He smirked, an expression that had lost all humor in recent months. "Maybe I'd rather spend them in Hell." Her eyebrows shot up. "Don't look so surprised. _Nothing_ you can cook up could be as bad as this."

She crossed tanned arms over her chest and shifted her weight. He wasn't attracted to her, wasn't attracted to anything lately, he'd noted with sadness, but his brother. "Is that a challenge?"

"Show me whatcha got, bitch."

The smile faded from her face, her eyes flashing dangerously in the moonlight. "No deal."

"What?"

"You heard me. No deal. In fact, my boss and I were talking the other day, and we agree with you. What you're going through right now is _much_ worse than anything that we could ever cook up for you."

He swallowed hard, his throat clicking. He knew what was coming and dreaded it, dreaded it like he dreaded going back to the room, like he dreaded facing Sam, what he might do to Sam if he ever completely lost it. "What do you mean?"

Her smile was back, and bigger than before. "You're free. Sam will live." What he would have once considered a beautiful smile turned dark, twisted, sinister. "And you'll live. With him. For the rest of your natural life. And wherever you two lovebirds end up in the end… well, that's up to you." She spun around, her heels kicking up dirt, and started walking away.

Dean stood at the crossroads, his body going numb. His release was gone. All that lay before him was Hell on Earth.


	5. Sins

Everyday I log on and am shocked. I don't think I'll ever stop being shocked over this one.

That being said, today is the day. The test. The chapter that people will yell at me over. The final one should be up on Friday (busy all day tomorrow with Prom dress altering and Speech team practice), so keep an eye out. And keep those reviews coming. They're intriguing.

* * *

_Chapter 5_

_Sins_

A note. That was all Dean had left. A hastily-scrawled note that was barely even legible.

Sam held it up to the tiny bit of natural light that was streaming through the grime-crusted window and read it again.

_Sammy,_

_I'm sorry, but I can't take it anymore. By the time you read this, it'll be too late. I'll be gone. The way I see it, whatever they do to me in Hell can't be half as bad as this, right? Just… move on ,all right? It's better like this. Please, just know that I love you._

_And that's the problem._

_Dean_

He crumpled the note, balled it up into his fist, taking out his anger on it, his aggression. They were so damn close, so close that he could taste it, and Dean couldn't wait. It was just like his brother.

He was pacing the floor, anger slowly giving way to hopelessness giving way to realization. His brother was dead. Dean was dead.

And then the door opened.

Sam spun, his eyes going wide. Dean looked tired, spent, worn out, hopeless. "You…?"

"They wouldn't take me," the older man muttered, closing the door and hanging his head. "This is more fun for them. Watching me suffer is more fun than whatever they had planned for me." He looked up and his eyes, so lost, so haunted, so hungry, met Sam's. "They won't take me, Sammy."

"It's ok-"

"I can't live like this!"

"Calm down," Sam advised. "Look, I've been thinking, and I ran it by Bobby, and he thinks I might have something."

"What?" A glimmer of hope sparked to life behind listless hazel orbs.

He took a deep breath. He knew that what he was about to suggest was wrong, was illegal, was what Dean had been fighting so hard to avoid, but the older man was right. He couldn't live like that. If Sam could help, he was going to… no matter the price. "Remember what happened to the woman in Lincoln after she got what she wanted? For the most part, she went back to normal. I mean, she remembered that she'd wanted those shoes, but-"

Dean nodded. "She wasn't all psycho about it afterward. So?"

"Maybe that's what it takes to break the spell. Maybe you just need to-"

"No way," Dean cut hum off. "I know where you're going, and it's not gonna happen."

"Come on, Dean. Just give in. Maybe just once, and-"

"No. Forget it. That's disgusting."

"Maybe if you just get what you want-"

"I don't want it!"

"Do it, Dean. It might help. I swear I won't-"

"No. You wanna be gay, do it on your own time."

"Just-"

"No!"

"Just once. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

"What if I can't stop once I start?" Dean asked, his voice soft, fear shining in his eyes, visible in every line on his face, the lines that had deepened so much since Lincoln. "What if I _like_ it?"

"If it works, you won't have to worry. It's for your own good."

"It's wrong."

"Do it."

"No."

"Do it!"

Dean turned away, looking back at the door. "No!"

Sam reached forward and grabbed his brother's chin in one oversized hand, yanking the older man's face back around. "Do me!" he shouted.

He hadn't expected Dean to act so fast. His hand was ripped from his brother's face as Dean reached up and grabbed his shoulders, fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket, and shoved him hard against the wall.

Sam just closed his eyes and let it happen, took himself somewhere else in his mind, somewhere where only good things happen to good people and demons weren't twisted enough to get a kick out of turning brothers into lovers. He tried to pretend that it was anyone else, anyone else's lips on his, on his neck, anyone else's hands trailing through newly shortened hair, down his chest.

His arms were raised against his will, his layers stripped, and he opened his eyes, met his brother's. There was so much sadness, so much confusion, so much loss. No control, just instinct, baser instinct, planted by a demon on a whim. His blocked out the image.

He let himself get pulled off the wall and led to the bed, let himself get pushed down.

And then he felt nothing. No hands, no lips. He looked again, looked for his brother, and found him. Dean was on the bed, kneeling, one leg on either side of Sam's body, straddling him, his shirt off, eyes blank. Those eyes told tales, always had, always would. Right now, they said that the end had come, that he was done fighting, that Hell was better, less torture.

Maybe he'd known all along what Dean was going to do, that he would never take it as far as that bitch had hoped. Maybe he'd actually thought that his plan would work, that he could fix his brother, that they could forget about the whole thing.

Hungry eyes watered as Dean reached behind his back and produced the gun that he had tucked away in his waistband. "Sorry, babe," he whispered as he put it to his head and pulled the trigger.


	6. Fin

I am so glad that nobody yelled at me about writing a deathfic without a warning.I just think that it cheats the readers, you know? I mean, would you have enjoyed the story so much if you knew that someone was going to die. Imagine having that hanging voer your head for five chapters!

Phew.

Anyway, as always, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed (and that's a surprising number of you). I'm still a little confused, but I'm sure I'll snap out of it. If you liked what you read, check out my other stuff. "On Angel's Wings 5" is set for release whenever I finish it, in case you're interested. Thanks again for reading and reviewing and being totally awesome.

And now on to the end:

* * *

_Chapter 6_

_Fin_

Sam watched as fire lit the sky and the wind picked up his brother's ashes, stirring them along on the breeze. He closed his eyes, unable to block the image from his mind, the picture of Dean's body, minus half a head, hitting the grimy motel carpet.

He looked back to the sky, letting the wind stir his hair, trying to block out the memories, the night before, the things that he had been willing to do to keep his family. He understood now why Dean had done it, why he'd made that deal. This loss, this gaping pit that had wormed its way into him and threatened to swallow him whole, a pit that only family could fill, was unbearable. Hell probably _was_ better.

He sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking at the ground. In the end, he hadn't kept his promise. He hadn't saved Dean. Hadn't saved him from Hell, hadn't saved him from himself.

Behind him, someone called out, called his name. He turned.

Dean was standing underneath a near-by tree, hands in his pants pockets, rocking back and forth, smiling, form flickering slightly the way that all ghosts did when they started to lose their hold on the earth. "Hey, baby."

Sam grinned. There was nothing sexual in his brother's voice, no hint of suffering, of trying to fight. There was no longing, no hunger, no wanting. Just Dean, being his usual, annoying self. "Hey."

He couldn't stop the tears. They'd been there the whole time, just under the surface, ever since things had started to go downhill, and now they flowed freely. Dean rolled his eyes. "Always knew you were a pansy."

Sam chuckled, swiping at his tears, "I wasn't the one doing the groping last night."

"Let's, uh, keep that out of the epitaph, huh, Sammy?"

He managed a small nod as his brother turned to go, all good-byes said, all forgiveness given in so few sentences. It had always been a specialty of theirs. "Dean?"

The ghost stopped, glancing over his shoulder and appraising his brother with clear, bright eyes. "Yeah?"

"Is it really better? Hell?"

Dean smiled. "Wouldn't know. They took it back, remember? I'm a free man."

A stray sob escaped Sam's lips as he smiled. "Seriously?"

His brother nodded. "Seriously. Mom and dad say hi. Jess misses you."

Sammy blinked, trying to clear his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Dean turned fully back, placing a light hand on his brother's shoulder. "Not your fault. You take care of yourself, you hear?" Sam nodded. "Good. Just remember, I love you." Dean smirked. "And that's the problem."

He disappeared in a flash of warm light, his touch lingering on Sam's shoulder. The last remaining Winchester grinned, turning his face to the sky. "Love you, too," he whispered, "_babe_."

* * *

Yay! The end. So, any final comments for me? Ya love me or hate me? Can't wait to hear, and thanks again :) 


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